Page 57 of Unleashed

Silver’s head snapped toward Doyle. “Watch yourself.”

“Let him talk.” My knee screamed as I shifted my weight, but I kept my voice steady. “You’ve got more to say, Doyle, spit it out.”

“Yeah, I’ve got more.” Doyle’s face flushed red. “We’ve been busting our asses all season. Following your lead. And the whole time you’ve been, what? Too proud to admit you’re not up to playing anymore? That’s not leadership. That’s ego.”

“Shut up, Doyle!” Riley launched forward, but Silver caught him before he could tackle Doyle.

“Anyone else feel that way?” My gaze swept the room. A few guys wouldn’t meet my eyes. Others looked ready to throw down with Doyle. My team was fracturing right in front of me.

Silver stood, commanding attention before he said a word. “You want to talk leadership? Look at our record. Look at where we finished in the conference. Hell, look in the mirror and tell me how many of you are better hockey players because of something Viggy said, something he showed you on the ice. You think that happens by accident?”

“Not saying he hasn’t been good for the team.” Doyle’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Just saying maybe last year shoulda been his last. Maybe it’s time for someone else to step up. Someone who can actually play.”

The room erupted. Guys jumped to their feet, pushed up in one another’s faces, voices rising, aggression. Teammates squaring off across the floor. No unity. No calm. Just noise and blame. A crack down the center of the room.

I’d tried to hold the line. Keep it quiet, keep us focused. Protect the room by carrying it myself.

But knowing didn’t make it easier to watch. And it sure as hell didn’t excuse how long I kept quiet. Told myself it was for the team. For focus. For unity.

Had I done it for them? Or just for me. Fair question.

“Enough!” My voice cut through the chaos. “Doyle’s got a point.”

Silence crashed back in. Even Doyle looked surprised.

“This season has fucked with my thinking. I should have reported the injury when it happened. Should have trusted the system. Trusted you guys. I don’t want to offer excuses, but I want to be honest. It’s hard, knowing when to shed the captain mentality, when to own up to what I need as just a player. That’s on me.”

My pulse hammered. My teammates faced me. Questions on their faces. Confusion in their eyes. Not where I wanted my team to be heading into a playoff run. “But I’ve been cleared by medical to play. You want someone else wearing the C? Talk to Coach. Otherwise, we’ve got forty-eight hours until Game One. Your choice from here—waste more energy on this crap, or focus on beating Chicago.”

Silver spoke first. “I’m with Viggy. All the way.”

“Same!” Riley’s voice rang out.

With each voice that called out their support, more and more of the tension dripped from my shoulders.

Doyle snorted, but dropped back onto the bench in front of his locker without another word.

“Alright then.” My boys met my gaze as I circled the room. “We’re done here, right? We have a Cup to win.”

The team cheered, but some tension lingered. As I moved across the room to my own locker, I caught sight of another damn red camera light. A reminder that the episode was mere hours away. My team might have my back, but what about the rest of the hockey world? What about the fans?

I kicked off my Nikes, changed into my practice blues. I’d fight that battle when it came.

Chapter Eighteen

Lily

Hockey Rule #51: Never show weakness

Media Rule #51: Exploit every vulnerability

TheAcesUnleashedintromusic filled my apartment, the familiar graphics mocking me from the screen. I huddled deeper into the corner of my loveseat, ignoring both the untouched wine and the pad Thai growing cold on my coffee table. Only Bright’s reassuring warmth against my thigh kept me from completely losing my mind.

Thursday nights usually meant takeout and trash talk with Adele, critiquing camera angles between bites and high-fiving each other over particularly good edits. But tonight? Tonight, my best friend murdered cookie dough in my tiny kitchen while I contemplated how thoroughly I’d torched my personal life.

The acrid scent of burning sugar wafted over the kitchen island as another pan hit the counter with a loud clang. She’d picked up the premade dough on the drive here, saying we needed the sugar on a night like tonight.

“Stop torturing perfectly good cookie dough.” My voice cracked despite my snark. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Just come sit down.”

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